


Not My Cat

by CloudAtlas



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Meet-Cute, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25916929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: There is a cat that is Not Natasha's Cat, and Not Natasha's Cat has gone missing.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 34
Kudos: 103
Collections: Be Compromised Promptathon





	Not My Cat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alistra (ALeaseInWonderland)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeaseInWonderland/gifts).



> Written for [this prompt](https://be-compromised.dreamwidth.org/583594.html?thread=11457962#cmt11457962) as part of the be_compromised Summer Promptathon 2020. Unbeta'd.

There is a cat and it’s not Natasha's cat. It’s _not_. Natasha doesn’t have a cat. She is not a cat person. She’s barely a _people_ person. She doesn’t have time to look after a cat.

But Not Natasha's Cat hasn’t turned up in a week and _for once_ she remembered to buy a couple of questionable and dented cans of cat food from the corner shop and the damn thing hasn’t even turned up to eat them.

She’s not worried. She’s _not_. She’s just… concerned.

Natasha checks another alleyway.

She’s traipsing around at seven in the evening because Not Her Cat hasn’t been seen in seven fucking days and it’s _Not Her Cat_ so she can’t put up flyers or anything. What would it even say? _Have you seen this cat? I don’t want it back I just want to know. Call: 381-481-313._ Apart from she can’t do that because she doesn’t have a photo of it and also _it’s Not Her Cat._

There’s a scuffle from above her and a distinctive yowl, and Natasha looks up to see Not Her Cat halfway up a health hazard of a fire escape, pawing at a window.

“ _Durak_ ,” she hisses, glaring up at the thing. It’s so _tiny_. How did it even get up there?

Not Her Cat is three stories up and wailing at the window and – well, shit. _She’s_ not going to eat two cans of cat food, is she? And she’s not letting them go to waste.

Natasha looks around. There’s not much here to act as a step up to grabbing the drop ladder, only a huge dumpster, inconveniently placed. But there’s a discarded coil of rope, and Natasha is strong and nothing if not resourceful. It only takes five minutes before she climbing the fire escape.

“Come here, you little idiot,” she says when she reaches Not Her Cat. “How did you even get up here? _Why_ are you even up here? Let’s get you down before you start bothering the nice – ”

She was going to say ‘nice people inside,’ but at that precise moment she actually looks into the apartment she’d found herself outside of to discover that the ‘nice people inside’ are in fact (a) _right fucking there watching_ and (b) both apparently very attractive men who wander around their place in skinny sweats and nothing else.

Oh and also there’s a white cat on the windowsill. That at least explains why Not Her Cat was up here bothering them.

From her crouch, she makes direct eye contact with Beefcake McHottie through the glass. Fuckity fuck.

The window opens.

“Hey,” says Beefcake McHottie, his casual lean on the windowsill making his bicep bulge enticingly. “So… she’s your cat then?”

“She’s not my cat,” Natasha replies stupidly, because apparently her ability to make smart decisions flies out of the window when faced with defined abs and cut-glass cheekbones. Wow, this guy is hot. And then there’s Buff Blondie on the couch. Jesus Christ.

“Uh-huh,” Beefcake McHottie gives her an amused once over, expertly catching _his_ cat around the middle just as it makes a bid for freedom. “Well, Not Your Cat has apparently made friends with Lucky, so would you like to come in?”

Natasha starts. She was so distracted by both Beefcake McHottie and Buff Blondie that she completely missed Not Her Cat climbing into their apartment and lying down to take a nap on the dog lying at Blondie’s feet. _Durak,_ she thinks, glaring daggers at its stupid furry head. _Mraz’ blyat’._

“We’ve just ordered pizza,” Buff Blondie calls, his grin mischievous and his eyes crinkling at the corners. “There’s enough for three.”

_This is a stupid idea,_ Natasha thinks as she takes Beefcake McHottie’s proffered hand. _This is a very stupid idea_.

She walks over to the couch anyway.

“Hi, I’m Clint,” Buff Blondie grins up at her, shifting to make space on the couch before pointing to Beefcake McHottie, “and that’s Bucky. And this is Alpine, and Lucky.”

He points to the white cat, which has joined Not Her Cat in napping on the dog’s back.

“Natasha,” Natasha offers after a beat of silence.

“And…?” Clint points at Not Her Cat.

“And that,” Natasha says, “is Not My Cat.”


End file.
